


Pier Inside

by wearyeyebrow



Category: Undertail - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Confession, D/s undertones, Fluff, Implied Dom Reader, Masturbation, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Pre-Relationship, Slight Masturbation Guilt, Sub Sans, gender-neutral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9457397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearyeyebrow/pseuds/wearyeyebrow
Summary: A quick look into the mindset behind feelings like love, guilt, anxiety, and what it means to enjoy submission and (light) domination.But really, it's just about two long time friends liking one another - a very typical confession story. Happy endings and all.If you squint you'll find mentions of smut. Hope you enjoy!





	

He’s not afraid of rejection.

You’re both adults. You can get over something like this with your friendship intact. He’s more afraid of what comes next, as his own insecurities bubble up to the surface. Relationships, intimacy, things he fantasizes about but nothing he’s good at. 

Even sex doesn’t come easily to him these days. He can’t relax. Hasn’t been able to properly relax for a long time. 

Being caught in a vague, existential time loop will do that to you.

It’s coming up to a decade since the barrier broke. So much has happened to him, his family, his friends. No one is exactly who they were, and he’s glad for it.

But their dynamic remains, and he hopes it always will, with a few additions added over the years. You, of course, being one of those additions. 

In his mind, you are saturated in emotion that he tries to pick through and sort. It wasn’t always this way, and he never thought it would be. It snuck up on him. Maybe it was watching his friends get married, that did it. Or the fact that his brother is growing more independent with each passing day, each new experience. 

Or maybe he’s just sexually frustrated and you’re the only single, attractive person he knows.

He wishes it was the last answer.

It’d be easier that way, you know?

Not that the last answer isn’t also true. He finds you extremely attractive, in more ways than one. It’s all he can do to keep you off of his mind some nights. 

His fantasies are less than pure, but they are nothing if not consistent.

He’ll change for a sex partner, go with whatever they want – whatever you’d want. But in his mind, in his fantasies, he’s never been the one in control. 

Giving up that responsibility, knowing he’ll be taken care of, told what to do and how to do it; he can shut off his mind. 

He’s had the opportunity to try submission a couple of times, and yes it had been as great as he thought it would be, but it wasn’t exactly what he wanted. He didn't trust them to do anything that truly made him vulnerable, as much as he fantasized about it.

And now, you are the subject of those fantasies. 

Something like tying him up, slowly, taking your time, to something like fucking him against a wall, edging him, making him scream your name – it’s you, you, you. Always you – and he’s getting tired of it. 

Because you fit the image so well. 

Confidence. It’s something he admires in his brother, and in turn admires in you. Going, doing, achieving. 

You have it in spades. It’s a quiet dignity that commands attention, commands everyone in the room. You say nothing, but hold yourself in such a way that others can’t help but fall in line.

You’re the type of person that seems like they have it all together, like they’ve got it all figured out. 

Which isn’t true behind closed doors. He knows you, he knows who you really are, and he appreciates how you embrace your imperfections. You have become comfortable like an old pair of shoes. 

Your words are satisfying, your thoughts familiar, and your ability to think through his bullshit has only gotten better with time. 

You don’t make him change his mind, or what he’s doing. But you let him know, in your own way, that you see through him. 

Whether he says he’s fine when he’s not, or when he disappears for a while, you call him on it every time without saying anything. You’re just there, in the background, willing to let him joke his way out of it. 

Six long years, the best he’s ever had. 

And yet, he wants to move on from you, to be able to choose to move on. To shut down his desires. 

But emotions, he knows, aren’t something you can always choose. You can only choose your behavior. 

And right now, he has a hand down his shorts.

It’s his mind. His mind to imagine you leaning over him, your shadow falling across his face, blocking his field of vision. 

You tell him what to do, and on his loneliest nights, tell him how good he is, how much you love him. He hates those nights. They’re wonderful. 

He has an arm over his eye sockets. He's mad at himself, for being a coward. But you reply, in his mind, with a touch of kindness. It’s worse that he’d replicate you to suit himself, that he’d fall into your natural dominance, or what he imagines it might be. 

He’s at the mercy of your fingertips wrapped around his soul. And try as he might to ignore it, the cadence of your voice, that look in your eyes when you want something, all focused on him – he feels warm, hot; too hot, too much at once. 

He whispers your name through clenched teeth and feels his cock twitch. He hates it, loves it, submits to this feeling too willingly. He wants to forget about you and what you do to him, but he keeps coming back. It started out as an occasional fantasy, something he figured was more about convenience than anything. But time tells a different story. It’s been almost a year since that shit started.

He swears he’ll tell you. But he knows he won’t. He’s told himself he isn’t afraid of rejection. And he isn’t – but it’s not something he looks forward to either. Being the representation of death isn’t exactly a turn on. Besides, you’ve seen him on his bad days, bad nights, you know how much baggage he’d bring into a relationship. Who would want to deal with all that shit? Looking at it objectively, he’s just not worth it. 

Ah, he realizes, there’s some of the bullshit you call him out on.

Just this once, he tells himself. Even though the phrase has lost its meaning.

You circle him, surround him, dominate him and tell him how important he is to you. You push away everything; it’s just you and him. 

His cock is weeping as you sit down on it. He tries to thrust his hips into your wet, warm heat, but you shush him, and tell him to be patient. That you have all the time in the world. That you want to enjoy this. You want to enjoy him.

He gives in, lets you take over, wants you to take control. He submits himself, in his mind, to everything you are. Everything you tell him to do, he’ll do. 

It’s exquisite. 

His mind goes blank, he bites your neck, claws at your back. Sobs, cries, opens himself for you. He does everything. 

He wants to come for you, he needs to come for you. You’re telling him to, in his mind. But the image fades, he tenses, hyper aware of his senses, of reality. 

Sometimes it’s difficult to be kind to yourself. 

‘can’t even jack off properly - the fuck is wrong with you, sans?’ 

An echo of your voice assures that nothing is wrong with him. You are a balm to his soul, calm and confident. So sure of yourself that he believes you, just for a moment. But then he opens his eyes to the pitch dark of his bedroom.

‘it’d never work out, you know that. it’s for the best.’ And in the dark, your voice remains silent.

He sighs. He’ll see you tomorrow, try to stay in the present moment. Forget about this shit. If he’s not going to do anything about it, then he can at least enjoy the time he spends with you. 

If he can only get some fucking sleep.

-

You’re going to talk to him about it. Tomorrow, when you see him. You’re going to tell him.

…Really, though? How many times have you said that to yourself?

You’re a grown ass person, who makes grown ass decisions, pays taxes, pursues dreams. 

Except this one.

You’ve been over it a thousand times. What you want to say, what you’ll probably say in the moment, how to react if he rejects you. How to move on. 

You wish it were simpler, like those romantic comedies. If you could just get drunk, sleep together, and wake up the next morning… if you could casually bring it up, if it wasn’t a big deal. 

But it’s so much more than that – or maybe you’re just making it hard.

He’s just so… so Sans.

He makes you laugh, makes you think, and your world has never seemed so interesting. But more than that, he’s just… you’ve built a relationship with him, a friendship that you wouldn’t trade for anything – except maybe a chance at something more. How much is it worth to you? 

Your hands itch to touch him every time you see him. Something small, like a hand on his lower back, something meaningful. But as intuitive as he is, you get the feeling being subtle won’t work this time. 

You’ve thought about just bringing it up. Casually, without any pre-meditation. He likes shit takeout, documentaries, and watching others succeed. Maybe you could order Thai food, watch a history lecture, and complete your trite, unfinished novel all while you tell him – get on his level. Some subtle jabs in there. Or would that be manipulation? It’d certainly be pre-meditated.

But you don’t want to do it at home in case it goes South. You want him to have an out, hell, you want to have an out yourself. 

It’s all so complicated, or maybe you’re just making it complicated. After all, in reality it’s quite simple. 

You tell him, ‘Dude, I kind of have a thing for you,’ and move on. Well, maybe with a bit more eloquence than that. Or you could go for the shock factor, add some humor in there, ‘Dude, did you know that I masturbate to thoughts of you?’ Yeah, that’s the one, you’re sure of it.

Fuck this.

But maybe you should be blunt.

You’ve talked about sex in the past, most topics open to discussion, especially with scientific curiosity. It’s fascinating. Monsters and humans both have sex, it’s just that some monsters have more options, and reproduction is always intended. The idea is attractive. Not having to settle for one set of genitalia? That’s awesome.

But now, the more you think about it, the more the idea thrills you. 

Some nights you imagine him with male genitalia, a cute little cock you’d love to ride, all while looking down at him squirming beneath you. Sometimes female, a fucking gorgeous cunt, swollen, dripping for your tongue, your fingers. Sometimes nothing at all, all that medical trivia finally coming in handy. What would it be like sucking on his pubis, fingering the holes in his sacrum, or grinding against his hipbones? 

You have an idea of what he might look like underneath his jacket, underneath his jeans. But it changes from night to night, the only consistency being his face and his deep, deep voice saying your name. 

You try not to think of him, you really do. 

But when you’re on the brink of orgasm he always comes to mind, replaces whatever scene you’re thinking of. It’s thrilling to hear yourself say his name as you come, imagining him gripping your back, gasping as you squeeze around him. 

You picture him – god if he was only riding your face, grinding himself into your mouth – but then you stop yourself, because holy shit, he’s one of your closest friends.

But it’s your mind. Your mind to think of him underneath you, waiting for you to make a move. Trusting you to treat him right, to take care of him. Would he be into that? Into letting you take control?

Almost all of the guys you’ve been with hated the idea – it’s an ingrained cultural norm that you wish could be broken down into personal preference. 

One or two though, were open to it. And those were the times you really enjoyed yourself. 

You’ve only been with a few women, and they never seemed into it, just personal preference.

Besides, it had never truly been what you wanted. It wasn’t just about taking control – it was about them wanting you, specifically you, to take care of them. Genuine adoration.

They didn’t work out in the end because ultimately, you just didn’t feel enough for them. They wanted more and you were too focused on work to give them the time they deserved.

Sans is the first person that has consistently come before your work. Where if he needed you, you’d drop everything. At first it was slightly terrifying. It felt like power. Like he held some sort of power over you – but it’s still your choice how to act, how much feeling to give into. 

And, quite frankly, you’d like to give all you have to offer.

You’ve just gotta tell him how you feel, and what you want. 

Easier said than done. 

But you’ll do it, because you care about yourself and how you feel. You’ll do it, even if it means he rejects you, because at least you’ll get some closure. 

Tomorrow, right? 

God damn, this is going to be a long night.

-

The pier is a great place to go for a walk. It’s a pretty cloudy day, chance of rain, so it’s basically empty. You walk next to each other, surrounded by boats and seagulls. You just had lunch and are walking it off.

Might as well get it over with. You feel teeny tiny caterpillars trying to climb out of your chest.

You let out a shaky exhale. ‘Hey uh, do you remember when we went to see that touring Picasso exhibit?’

‘heh, yeah, you didn’t know you had the flu until it was too late. Papyrus practically had to carry you back home.’ 

Okay, bad example. 

'What about that time we watched the meteor shower at Glacier Hill?'

'wasn’t that when you first really spent time with undyne? she clapped you so hard on the back you fell and hit your head. tried to tell her you were fine, but she spent most of the day crying about giving her new friend a concussion,' he chuckles.

You snort, ‘That’s not how I remember it – you went passive aggressive and rattled off head-injury death statistics until she felt bad.’

‘really? must’ve hit your head harder than i thought, because that’s certainly not how i remember it.’ He winks at you, having entirely way too much fun.

Even worse example. 

You sigh, ‘Okay so, my horrible constitution aside… What would you say to doing something like that again, but it's just the two of us, you know? And maybe we're uh, not going as friends. You get what I'm saying?’

You stop at an outlook, the pier facing the mountains, boats on the horizon line. You speak staring at the murky water, having difficulty looking at him as if you’re both positively magnetized.

The laughter from earlier dissipates. The only sounds you hear are the waves lapping against the dock. 

'...spell it out for me.'

You breathe out, okay, remember what you were going to say. 

'I like you – as in, I want something more with you, to see what we could be together. But you might not want that, which is fine. Obviously. I'll just have to move on, which is also fine. So, don't feel obligated or whatever. But I have to be honest, you know?’

Silence hangs in the air like fog, thick and impregnable.

You breathe out slowly, and wait for the inevitable.

'…you're braver than me.'

'Huh?'

'i've uh… well, i've wanted to tell you the same thing for months. but couldn't. and you just did. didn't you?'

You blink. '…I did. And I meant it. Spell it out for me, Sans.'

He breathes in slowly. 'i feel the same way you do, about us, about maybe having something together - more than what we've got. i just couldn't say anything, couldn't figure out how, or if it was a good idea.'

'For real?'

'for real.'

'Oh thank god.' You double over, your elbows on the railing, your warm forehead touching the cold metal. The seagulls cry overhead.

'that nervous, huh?'

'So nervous. I've been shaking the entire time. It's so fucking ridiculous, and yet I can't even blame myself. Fuck.' You stand up straight, looking out over the horizon. 

It all starts to sink in. 'Fuck yeah. Holy fuck, you didn’t reject me. I was waiting for that. I didn’t even really think about what I would do if you reciprocated. Fucking hell.' 

‘i mean, profanity is a good start. it’s staying with the familiar.’

‘You smartass.’

‘that’s me.’

You snort through your nose and look at him for the first time – oh no. His cheekbones are blue. He’s already making you melt inside.

‘Why are you so cute?’

He looks down at the ground, but you can tell he’s smiling, genuinely. ‘guess uh, it’s just in my jeans.’

‘You mean ‘genes’ with a J, don’t you?’

He chuckles, ‘what else?’

**Author's Note:**

> A little different, a little experimental, a little more specific than I'd typically like - but it was fun! So there's that. Thanks for reading!


End file.
